On My Way To You
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: S3 divergence. On Molly's wedding day to Tom, she realizes what she really wants. Who she really wants. Inspired by Lea Michele's song, On My Way.


Molly Hooper was engaged. Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about her and the day they had spent together. As he looked down at the velvet box in his hand, he recalled every single memory of Molly in his mind palace. He had planned to propose to her after their day together, and though he had noticed her ring whilst he took clients with her, he lost his nerve in the stairwell. How selfish could he be to propose to her, full well knowing she promised herself to another? Sherlock couldn't do that to her. Not to Molly Hooper. She deserved everything she wanted, everything she needed, and he couldn't give that to her.

Unbeknownst to him, he was not the only one who allowed silent tears to slip down his cheeks until succumbing to sleep. Molly had her back turned to Tom, her tears rolling down, sending her to dreamland where she imagined it was Sherlock who was her betrothed.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was nowhere to be found. Molly had seen him leave the reception. She almost went after him. Almost. So, there she sat in her and Tom's hotel room, regretting having not gone after him as her fiancé slept without a care in the world. Didn't he see how different she was? How detached she had become with him since Sherlock came back into her life. Molly felt stupid to ever believe she'd never see him again once helping him fake his death. He was Sherlock Holmes for goodness sake! That beautiful, clever man defied the odds, always.

Looking out the window at the stars, Molly did something she hadn't done in a long time. She prayed that God would give her a sign and guide her toward the right path. She asked Him to watch over Sherlock, knowing it was probably a danger night. And if this engagement blew up in her face, she prayed that Tom would find the right woman because she knew that it wasn't her.

* * *

 _Smack_. She had slapped him three times, her ring nearly leaving a mark on his face.

'It's for a case,' he had said unapologetically. Molly took this as her sign that she should marry Tom. If Sherlock was going to keep doing this to the people who loved him, she knew he'd one day break her heart to pieces. She was exhausted; understatement of the century. Every night coming home, Molly was bone tired, mentally and emotionally frazzled. But yet, Tom always believed the happy façade she shielded herself with. Why couldn't he see through her?

* * *

After the Magnussen debacle had been taken care of and Sherlock was off the hook, her wedding day approached quickly. Mary was in and out, helping Molly with her hair and makeup. It felt nice for someone else to primp her. The nerves in her stomach were so tightly knotted when Mary returned.

"Any sign of him?" Molly asked.

"No, 'fraid not, love," Mary sighed.

"He's not coming, is he?" she began to cry. Sherlock had made things up to her after being released by the government. They were on good terms again but he wasn't going to be here for her wedding. Flashbacks of how tender he had been with her on various occasions ran through her mind. The obvious heartbreak on his face from the moment in the stairwell made her heart ache. He was willing to let her go if it meant she would be happy. And then it hit her…if life with Tom meant life without Sherlock, she didn't want any of it. She just wanted _him_. He _loved_ her. Kicking off her heels and slipping her flats back on, still in her simple white lace dress, Molly ran.

"Go to him," Mary whispered.

"Hey, uh, where'd Molly go? It's almost time," John asked.

"She's gone," was all his wife said.

"Gone?" he questioned.

"Gone," she confirmed with a big smile.

* * *

Molly didn't have time to hail a taxi; she just hopped in her car, knowing that her heart was too love drunk to drive, but she didn't care. She needed to see him now. Her head was screaming 'no' at her, 'don't do this.' But her heart, beating for him and only him, told her to find him.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Tom asked in a panic at the passenger seat window.

"I can't go through with this," she told him, her breath shaky. Molly slipped off her ring, holding it out to him. "Not when my heart belongs to someone else. It's unfair to you and me both."

"He's never going to love you back!" he argued.

"That's the thing," she began, "he does love me. I was too busy lying to myself to see it." She was past the point of no return and Molly wasn't gonna let anyone or anything stop her. "I have to go." With that, she drove off, never to be seen by him again.

* * *

As Molly drove from Cardiff to London, she turned up the radio. She felt a sense of freedom as the road stretched out ahead of her; freedom from an unhappy façade of a marriage, freedom to follow her heart. Her finger hovered over the button to put the windows down, and realizing she was still wearing her veil, Molly tugged it off and tossed it in the backseat before the wind filled the car. The lyrics of the song empowered her more as it reached the third verse.

 **And no one's words can stop me.**

 **I'm past the point of no return.**

 **No matter how it hurts me, I'm running to you, running to you.**

 _I'm coming home, Sherlock_ , she smiled to herself. _I'm coming back to you._

* * *

Sherlock Holmes trudged up the stairs to his flat that evening, having driven all over London trying to decide if he should go to Molly's wedding. He had shut off his phone, not wanting to be distracted, so he didn't receive word of what had happened. She was married and there was nothing he could do to change that. His heart was aching.

Upon entering his bedroom, he flipped the switch on and revealed a petite woman in his blue dressing gown, white lace peeking out from beneath, sleeping in his bed. _Molly_. But what was she doing here? His gaze shifted to her left hand where a rose gold ring decorated it. Wait, her ring had been silver…this was the ring he was going to propose to her with. She had found it and already given him her answer.

"You're back," she mumbled sleepily, looking up at him.

"Yes and apparently I'm harboring a runaway bride," he smirked.

"Am I really a runaway bride if I left one fiancé for a different fiancé?" she asked.

"I suppose not," he told her with a light laugh.

"Mm, come 'ere," she muttered. Sherlock flipped the switch off, shedding his clothes and donning only a pair of pajama pants, and slipping into bed beside her. Molly immediately inched over until his arms were around her, holding her close. "I love you." Just three words, but they meant everything to him.

"And I love you, Molly," he whispered back.


End file.
